


The Blind Sheep (AU)

by Polishedscales



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Being Human (US AU), Clans, Gordlock - Freeform, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Other creatures! Oh my, Packs, Possible violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Toys, Trans!Oswald, Trans!ed, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 10:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11781426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polishedscales/pseuds/Polishedscales
Summary: Stumbling upon a website with direct instructions for people who were anything but ordinary people Ed decides, at a whim, to see where it leads him in hopes that he can find similar people suffering from lycanthropy-- a curse passed on by inflicting gruesome wounds upon average people by the infected in their full form. The instructions then lead him to a club referred to as "The Blind Sheep," a place where he meets an unlikely friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based off of an idea I've had in my head along with some elements from the show (US) Being Human. The title "The Blind Sheep" is a loose reference to a "Blind Tiger" or "Speakeasies," essentially making it a gateway for the unnatural/supernatural creatures to meet and converse in the waking world of humans. 
> 
> My work is never beta read and I do not focus too much on being a grammar nazi. Instead, this is for fun as usual! I can not guarantee this fic will continue, but I do hope you enjoy the first chapter as I meddle with this project!

It had taken Ed turns of holding his breath to avoid the reeking smells of the streets to get here. 

Settled between two alleyways wide and well kept was _ Maiden,  _ a quaint shop opposite to the Old Town Bar on 45 E 18th Street that was hardly missable. Its counterparts had lacked color and intrigue, but the stained glass windows of the small establishment had been freckled in leaves and vines and it drew onlookers in to have a peek as if by invisible song. It was tempting, even to Ed, but it was not that invisible song that had been luring him in, rather the faint symbol scrawled in red on the old bricks. 

Edward glances down at a crumbled piece of paper that he had printed from the city’s library.

The instructions had been clear; _ Find the shop, purchase a pendant, provide an ID, and then await instructions by the owner of the business. _ Simple. It had only taken him cohesive amounts of desperate searching to find the instructions in the first place and now, here he was.

Could it be that simple? And if so, why was it? He lowers the paper and squints. 

_ Would it be directions to a support group? Or would it be a trap set up for people like him? Will this amount to anything? _

 

From this side of the street he peers in through gaps of the foliage, watching the foggy silhouettes of people moving to and fro inside, some stopping to chat while others made haste in their purchases.  _ The people appear to be casual, nothing odd about that. If anyone tries anything… It is a busy street, I’ll be fine.  _ He tells himself, and, shrugging, he crosses the street and shoves the paper into his pocket, ensuring that he could take care of himself. And right now in his life what did he have to lose? He was financially unstable, had trouble paying the month’s rent, and hadn’t had proper interaction with people since the  _ incident.  _ This could be the nudge he was looking for.  

Before entering he adjusts his clothing, smoothes out his plaid shirt, clears his throat— _lowered voice, check_ —and turns the handle of the wooden door with glass panes ajar to scope out the inside, raising his brows when an older couple carrying plants comes towards him.

“Excuse me,” Ed says, popping a canine grin and holding the door open for them to pass without any inconveniences in their leave. To his pleasure they thank him, wrinkled smiles and eyes curling as old people do, and he enters the shop after they had made distance from him, having to duck his head to avoid being probed in the eyes by a leafy plant.

The shop was larger than it had appeared from outside, which had not surprised him because it was a common characteristic among the shops in Gotham, and upon entry a natural aroma of flowery scents lightly wafted towards him, not becoming, in the smallest, overwhelming even in spite of the cluttered amounts of greenery inhabiting the place. And for a man of heightened senses he was pleased for that.  

Out of habit he preens himself again, slicking his windswept hair back with a hand, pulling the wrinkles out of his jeans, and giving a final patting to his pocket, making sure that the instructions were still safely kept —  and they were — before deciding to search for where the pendants were, not letting the opportunity to finger a few plants that had caught his eye go by. The other customer’s were equally as interested as he was. They were small, large, and odd, and it wasn’t until the fourth plant he had touched, one that looked too unnatural to be a plant with its circular head and rowed teeth clamped shut, that a pale, fiery-haired woman had appeared, assumably the shop’s owner coming to banish him or shun him for messing with the merchandise. He gave a glance around, searching for other perpetrators other than himself, but no one else was to be seen, leaving him to be the only one still residing in the place.

_ I… didn’t hear anyone leave. _ He says to himself.

“Be careful with which plants you touch,” she warned, her voice sing-songy. “Not all are friendly here.”

“My apologies,” Edward says, retracting his hand to rest a thumb in his pocket. “I wasn’t aware that I would have to be careful in a — ” he gestured around  ” — flower shop.”

 

“You wouldn’t have known unless I had told you,” she confirms. “I do need to put a sign up for warning…” she drifts off, green eyes voiding, but almost immediately they snapped back to life, set to eyeing him down. If it weren’t for his height insoles she would have towered inches above him, making that observation easier for her. “Until then, may I help you with something? I don’t think I’ve seen you in these parts before.”

Edward pauses, a stuttering uncertainty.

_ If she was not in fact the shop’s owner his revelation of the instructions he had found could have been incriminating evidence that another operation was being held at the sake of the shop, but if she was…  _ “Yes, actually. Although this is a flower shop I had gotten wind that there were pendants here. Er, is there pendants here?” He asks awkwardly, his mouth going dry.

 

“Pendants? Are you marked?” She asks, her brow furrowing.

He doesn’t know if what he is about to show her is what she is looking for but he does it anyways, pulling his sleeve up to reveal a thickly bandaged forearm that is evidently hiding a wound.

He doesn’t speak and doesn’t offer to uncover it for her, but, to his relief, the woman smiles.“My name’s Ivy, and yes, yes I will show you the pendants.” 

Edward looks up at her, skin flushing. He wasn’t sure if that would have been enough proof for her, but to his luck she had understood his circumstances without further pestering. He nods, pulls his sleeve back down, and she takes no time as she ushers him to a back room behind the front desk, a colder place of faded, green fluorescent lighting where there were more supplies than plants.

“Stay put while I bring it out,” Ivy says, patting him on the arm. She quickly disappears behind medical grade storage cabinets used to keep her supplies organized, rummages through what he isn’t sure of, and came back to him not seconds later, pinching the chain of a necklace to let it dangle past the wrist, the pendant swinging in its quality material.

“First, I must ask, are you above age?” She inquiries him, resting her hands on her hips. “You look rather young.”

“Yes,” Ed confirms, reaching towards his pocket. “I can show you proof if you’d like?”

She shakes her head and hands him the pendant and chain, patting his shoulder again. “No need. It’s just refreshing as I haven’t seen your kind in quite a while. It isn’t often we get your kind walking around the city of Gotham. You’re… scarce, but you have a distinct smell that I should have recognized as soon as you walked in.”

Edward uncomfortably rubs his arm, feeling the nerve to ask  _ her _ questions. “A distinct smell?”

“Oh, I don’t mean it like that,” she giggles, and leans in, raising her shoulders. “It’s that sort of wet dog smell. Cologne and perfume can hardly mask it, but if you ever want to hide it for a certain period of time I can offer my services to you.”

Ed cringes insecurely. “That won’t be necessary,” he assures her. “I don’t think it’s  _ that  _ noticeable. At least not to the average person.”

“If you say so,” she winks. “It’s not the average people you should be looking out for, but you’ll learn that on your own. Now, put the pendant on and cross the street to the Old Town Bar. Once you’re there keep your head down, or don’t, and head to the back. There will be a man there. Say Ivy sent you, raise your pendant towards him, and you’ll be free to enter.”

“It’s that easy?” Edward questions.

Ivy nods and shrugs. “It’s that easy. And if you don’t like it there you don’t have to return, but I must give you a fair warning; there isn’t that many of you. If you had came by years ago it wouldn’t have been an issue, but now... I’m not too sure. By the club’s ruling you’re safe in its presence, but outside of the club you’re fair game. Remember that.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luring the reader in with one chapter at a time. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> If you're not familiar with terms transmen use this chapter may be confusing to you. (Packer/Packing refers to the use of a phallic prosthetic used to ease dysphoria.) There will be more in the later chapters, but as of now it's kept simple. Also, with that being said, I'll go ahead and say that the terms revolving around the genitals will be different and how most refer to them as. Growth from HRT will be referred to as that or as "dick, penis, etc." Neither have had bottom surgery, so the term entrance will be coined up for the region that isn't the asshole. (These terms will be used to avoid discomfort with my own dysphoria as well as with others. Thanks for reading!)

Oswald leans against the velvet bar and swirls his glass of O negative mixed with a sliver of altered wine, listening to the cubes ting against the container and ignoring the low pulsing of the club.

_261 years_ . He snarls to himself, taking a sip of the pungent bloodied cocktail. _261 years and I’d think by now I’d be able to prevent having a slip up._

It was true. For a dead man walking of that age he had set his standards high for himself over the flying months and years, but that didn’t matter. Not when last night’s moments flashed before him, teeth, blood, strings of flesh, moaning— Oswald rests the cold glass against his face and sighs, moving a hand down to covertly adjust the shaft of his packer that presses firmly against his leg and his tingling groin. Being trans was one thing to deal with, but being a vampire? He shook his head. If any more complexities decides to smack him in the face he’d be a goner.  
  
His partner — or “ _late night snack”_ as Butch had called him after he had arrived to cleanup at the scene — hadn’t been the wiser of either identity, but it was only when his eyes dared to flash black and his fangs slipped from his gums that he had realized his mistake. It had been _so_ long, and a taste of tangled bed sheets and bloodied lips were thought to be enough, but it wasn’t.

In the throes of passion he had wrapped his hand around the man’s neck and sunk in, holding him there until he could feel the man’s life — his name was Robert, he reminded himself— drain from beneath his body until the human’s temperature matched his own. 

 

_Dead_ . _Cold._

 

He shivers, imagining Robert’s soft face and smile outside of the apartment complex, so unsuspecting of the monster he was. Did he have family? How long would it be before they went searching for him and plastered the city streets with another missing victim?

Familiar footsteps came up behind him and stopped.

“Hey there blood sucker,” Butch says, harshly slapping him on the back. “How are you feeling? Better, right? After last night, huh? Attractive man, but I have to ask, do you have a taste for any of these young men in here? They’re all up for grabs and delivered specially for our entertainment.”

“For _your_ entertainment, maybe,” Oswald scoffs, glancing at Butch and unzipping his leather jacket. “I told you, I don’t drink live anymore,” he says, sucking down another gulp of his drink that had become watered down after his day dreaming. “Do I have to remind you?”

“Since when? Last night, remember? Should I be the one to remind you?” Butch laughs, securing a heavy grip on Oswald’s shoulder that made his eye twitch. “Fish is expecting you to come back and be with the family again,”  he says, leaning in to whisper at the back of Oswald’s ear. “We don’t mind cleaning up your occasional mess because that’s what families do, so, what do you say? Should we take one of these blood bags back to her and show her how it’s done? She’d love to see that you’re still in the game.”

Oswald tenses. “That was a one time thing, a mistake. It won’t happen again, and I certainly won’t be coming back to Fish, nor will I be bringing her a _blood bag_ as you call them, so why don’t I advise you take your head and firmly insert it further up her ass? It has already made headway,” the raven haired man snaps, pushing Butch’s hand away. “This club continues to be run by Falcone, and while she is my maker I am my own man, but thanks for the offer anyway. Tell her I’ll keep it in mind if I ever feel that I’m going to falter without her care.”

Out of the corner of his eye Oswald watches Butch’s fist clench, but the broad brute remains calm and backs off, no doubt turning heel to sulk back to his infector with the disappointing news.  

In the long run he was certain that last night’s incident would leave him at the mercy of Fish to some degree. He had asked for her help, something he hadn’t done in years upon moving to Gotham, but his choices had become limited. Besides, how easy would it be to explain a gruesome mess like to the general public? It wasn’t as if vampires had been recognized by the humans to have civil rights. Hell, no one other than the supernatural and a select few knew they had existed.  

He sighs again. No matter. Until it had come back to bite him full fanged he wouldn’t think of it.

Oswald looks behind to his side and no longer sees Butch or his darkening presence, eliciting a roll of his shoulders and a dark smirk. If that was one measure of victory he could take credit for in annoying Fish’s lapdog he would take it, and so he swallows the rest of the beverage, the ice cold against his teeth.  

 

* * *

 

  
“Mutt?” The guard asks accusative, broad chest bulging in Ed’s face.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Are you a mutt?”

Edward’s eyebrows swirl to exhibit puzzlement, then to offense. “Uh, _werewolf…_ yes. Mutt, no?”

“Mutt then,” the guard confirms, leaning down to swipe a black backpack from the ground amongst others to hand to him. He murmurs something about smelling him a mile away, his appearance making it easier to recognize his kind. “Take this.”

Ed catches the backpack being unnecessarily thrusted into his chest and glances wide-eyed to him. “And this is?”

“There’s maybe one or two mutts in The Blind Sheep, could be more. The vampires? Countless. Humans? More than necessary. What I’m trying to say is… keep it in your pants.”

Edward clutches the backpack in his hands and scoffs, taken aback by the man’s nerve. “Keep it in my pants?” He asks, and mentally laughs to himself. _That shouldn’t be a problem. Impregnating someone with my original plumbing is nigh on impossible._   

“You heard me. We don’t want your lot reproducing, owner’s rules, now show me your pendant and I’ll let you in.”  

Edward furrows his brow and is now more confused than he had been the second he had walked into the bar. He glares at the guard and decides to take a peek inside the bag, his head swirling on the brink of bewilderment. Seeing what was inside he added insult to that list of emotions.

Toys. But not just any toys... dog toys— and not limited to the kind that you could pick up at your local market for your pet. He had never been more alarmed to see a dildo in the shape of a werewolf’s cock than he was now, and the matching werewolfess sheath did not help matters any.

_Was this their way of controlling other werewolves?_ He asked himself. _And did vampires get a molded face guard to prevent them from going blood crazy?_ Huh, probably not, but it was a thought Ed had entertained.

“What? Is there not enough squeaky toys in there for you? Show me the pendant,” the guard barks. “I don’t want to ask you again.”

Tired of the treatment he’s facing Edward zips the backpack and fishes the necklace out with one hand, holding it out for the man to breathe in with his reeky breath. Edward had never been a fan of bulky necklaces, but this was anything but. It had a gold— not silver, mind you— circular setting and chain with a pawprint merged into a human’s as the focal point. Identifying enough to him, but not enough for others to question it.

The guard pauses, nods, and then gives him one more follow up question. “And who sent you?”

“Ivy sent me.”

“You’re free to enter, then.”

 

If Edward had the nerve he would have punched the man in the gut right then and there, but where would his manners be? And how far would that get him? The guard opened the door he had been stocked in front of and stepped aside, allowing him to enter and making sure he had taken the backpack with him.

_I’m literally going to punch myself in my own face if the rest of these people are a pinch like that asshole._ He tells himself, groaning. He swings the backpack over his shoulder and follows the hall down to the very end, taking a left instead of a right as the shifty wall painted signals directed. He reached another door, iron-made, and opened it, continuing until the beat of low playing music thrummed in his ears. He wasn’t going to lie to himself. He was nervous.

  
_Would there be other werewolves? Could I learn something from them? Hell, have they found a way to reverse this curse?_ He swallowed. _If I wasn’t taken so lightly by the guard how would the others react? Was he a vampire?_ He rose a hand to messy his hair, shift his pants, and placed his hand on the knob, turning it until the red and black velvet laced room came into view.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop, Oswald and Edward meet along with a few other familiar faces.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in seeing this fic continue comments or sending me an ask over at nygmaticreport.tumblr.com/ is always welcome! Thanks for reading!


End file.
